Jude had been a complete gentleman during the ride, and now the horses were happily walking the last few yards toward home.
Marissa's thoughts, however, had been less than ladylike. She still didn't think he was an attractive man, but she'd revised her opinion of his thighs.
Yesterday in the garden, his muscles had been just as hard as she'd expected when she'd touched him. Like stone, but stone that was warm and flexing and contoured into fascinating curves. Every shift of his body had felt like the pull and push of a mountain beneath her hand. And on his horse ... my Cod, on his horse, his thighs had bulged and tightened and pressed with fantastic indecency against his breeches. Marissa had found her breath coming quick and shallow by the time they'd reached the ruins.
Yet, they'd done nothing but stroll. He'd been perfectly respectable, and Marissa was close to snarling with impatience. They were playing at betrothal. She'd earned a kiss!
The packed earth of the stable yard thumped beneath the horses' hooves as boys approached to take the reins. Jude dismounted with a grace that defied his large size... and the large size of his horse.
He reached to help her down, and his hands finally curved around her body, but they didn't linger. He let her go, and Marissa barely managed to not stomp her foot.
Frustrated, she only raised her chin higher. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Bertrand. I had a wonderful time."
Hands behind his back, he walked with her along the side of the stable. "Why so cross then?"
"I am not cross."
"Really? I was about to start quoting from The Taming of the Shrew."'
"And now you've called me a shrew. Lovely."
"You say that as if it were my last offense among many."
"Mm."
Jude took her arm and swung her gently around to face him. "What is it, mon coeur?"
"Why do you call me that? Your heart seems quite content to keep its distance."
"Docs it?" He touched her temple, sweeping a strand of hair back. His lingers brushed the edge of her little riding hat, and she worried it had lost its jaunty angle. Did he not think her pretty enough? Did he not desire a kiss at all?
His eyes told her nothing as he watched her. "I had no idea you wanted it near," he murmured.
And he was right, of course. She wanted nothing to do with his heart, and she was suddenly afraid of the challenge she'd nearly issued.
"We'll be late for luncheon," she whispered, stepping back from the trap of his gaze.
He studied her a moment longer, his dark eyes keeping his thoughts secret, and Marissa let out a sigh of relief when he simply offered his arm. A kiss was one thing, but talk of his heart had been foolish on her part. She did not know enough about her own heart to have that conversation.
He led her into the manor without another word, and at the bottom of the stairs, he bid his farewell and bent over her hand. Marissa was holding her breath, anticipating the brush of his mouth against her skin, when someone called her name.
She looked up in surprise at the eager female voice and spotted her best friend rushing across the entry.
"Beth!" Marissa squealed over the top of Jude's bent head. "You're here!"
He released her hand, and Marissa stepped forward into her friend's embrace.
Beth's mother had been ill for nearly a year, so Marissa hadn't seen her at all during the past Season in London. She'd missed Beth so much that she felt tears prick her eyes.
In that moment, Marissa realized why she'd gone with Peter White. It hadn't just been wickedness or lust. She'd been lonely.
Beth's tight embrace said that she'd been lonely too.
Marissa breathed in the familiar clean scent of Beth's dark hair. Their housekeeper made the soap herself, and it smelled like nothing else but Beth.
"Who is this?" Beth whispered in her ear.
Marissa let her go and turned to look at Jude.
"Oh, allow me to introduce Mr. Bertrand. Mr. Bertrand, this is Miss Elizabeth Samuel."
"Miss Samuel," he said. "It's an honor to meet you."
"Mr. Bertrand," she murmured, her voice quiet with shock.
"If you'll excuse me, I'll leave you two to your visit."
They both watched him walk away until Beth finally shook her head. "Good gracious, that man is quite frightening."
"Oh. Yes, I suppose he is."
"Did you go riding with him?"
"Yes." She felt the weight of Beth's curious gaze, but it was her own guilt that compelled her to blurt out, "He's very nice."
Beth just tugged her toward the stairs. "Come. Let's go to your room. You haven't written in a week. I want to know everything you've done."
Marissa thought that a singularly bad idea, but she pretended to agree.
"How many more proposals have you received?"
Marissa laughed too loudly and then peppered Beth with questions about her mother's health in order to keep her talking. Marissa didn't wish to speak of the past week. But mostly she didn't wish to speak of Jude. Beth wouldn't understand.
Marissa didn't understand it herself.
Dinner had been so lovely with Beth there to chatter with. And Jude as well, near enough to share an occasional smile if not a conversation.
After dinner, Marissa took Beth's arm and strode happily toward the music room, anticipating that the evening would only get better. She was wrong.
Beth's cousin had been far enough away from them at dinner that Marissa had been able to ignore her, but there was no ignoring her now. Nanette held court from her perch on a chair set close to the door.
"My darling Marissa!" she cooed. "I'm so happy to spend time with you again. This year has been so awfully dull, locked away from society."
Marissa gritted her teeth and offered a patently false smile. Nanette had lived with Beth's family for the past four years, and the two women should've been as close as sisters, as they'd come out the same year. But despite that the Samuels had taken Nanette in upon her father's death, she considered herself far above them. Her mother had been the sister of an earl, after all, and she herself was an heiress.
"I've made Aunt Samuel promise to get better. We simply cannot miss another Season! And we were so worried, of course."
"Of course."
Nanette leaned forward conspiratorially. "Did I tell you that Viscount Farington sent me lilies when he realized I would not be in London for the Season?"
"Mm," Marissa hummed, unwilling to say more. She knew that Viscount Farington had sent the flowers to both Beth and Nanette, but there was no point in clarifying it. Nanette would just wink and say that, of course, Viscount Farington had not wanted to be rude.
Beth sat tensely next to her cousin, not saying a word.
"Well," Marissa said, "You were both missed in London this year. Beth, did I mention that Mr. Dunwoody asked after you just yesterday?"
"He did?"
"Do you remember him? He says you met only once."
"Of course I remember. We danced once. Such a graceful gentleman."
"So he is. My favorite partner of late."
Nanette trilled a laugh. "I wonder if he will spare me a dance as well! I shall decide if he's as lovely as you say."
Marissa frowned, but managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. Barely.
Still, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold back her irritation for long, so the sound of the men walking down the corridor was a great relief. Nanette would be too busy flirting to bother with the women much longer.
Marissa bent to whisper quickly in Beth's ear. "I hope you are ready to dance while you're here. Mr. Dunwoody was quite interested in your arrival."
Her friend's checks flared pink. A good thing, as her face had been quite pale. Now she looked less like a girl who'd spent a year at her mother's bedside and more like a youthful maiden.
Marissa waited impatiently for Mr. Dunwoody to appear, but she soon forgot that she was waiting for him and began watching for Jude instead. Would he be a gentleman tonight or a ro
gue? Would he smile mysteriously from the corner, or would he steal her away and kiss her?
Both, hopefully.
The night suddenly felt so uncertain. Her pulse leapt in uneven surges.
"Miss York," a man said. She knew the voice was too tentative to be Jude, but she still hoped it was him as she turned. The sinking of her heart seemed melodramatic in the face of such mild disappointment, but she smiled when she thought of what Jude would say to that.
"Mr. Dunwoody! Here is Miss Samuel, just as I promised! Did you get a chance to speak with her before dinner?"
"I did not." He bowed low over Beth's hand. "Miss Samuel, it is such a pleasure to see you again. I hope your appearance means your mother has improved?"
"She is much better, sir. Thank you." They smiled at each other for a long, awkward moment before Nanette nudged her cousin's elbow.
"Oh," Beth breathed, her expression melting into a combination of embarrassment and dread. "This is Mr. Dunwoody. Mr. Dunwoody, this is my cousin Miss Nanette Samuel."
"A pleasure," she purred with a graceful inclination of her head.
Mr. Dunwoody laughed nervously as he bowed, and when he rose, his eyes stayed on Nanette. "I meant to... oh!" He turned halfway back toward Beth. "I meant to request the privilege of a dance with you this evening, Miss Samuel. And with your lovely cousin as well, if she would deign to dance with a stranger."
Nanette tittered and touched his arm, and Mr. Dunwoody's smile widened to a grin.
Marissa gritted her teeth, but she told herself it didn't matter. Mr. Dunwoody liked Beth, and though Nanette always did her best to draw attention from her cousin, she wouldn't succeed this time, surely. When he walked away, Nanette observed how handsome he was and asked after his prospects. Then she proceeded to tell Beth that a gentleman without a title might be a fine catch for someone like her, but Nanette intended to be Lady Something other when she married. "Still," she laughed, "Mr. Dunwoody certainly seems a fine prospect for a dance partner in the meantime."
Marissa interrupted with a pointed look at Beth. "Beth, I believe my mother wanted to speak with you about designing a headdress for tomorrow's play. You're so amazingly creative! You will excuse us, won't you, Nanette?"
She pulled her friend up and led her toward the far side of the room. "I don't know how you live with that woman," she whispered to Beth. "She's intolerable."
"She's not so bad. At least when I sit next to her, the gentlemen flock around."
"Mr. Dunwoody did not need her presence to entice him. And, as always, you sell yourself too cheaply. Why, Malcolm James was very close to making an offer during your first season."
"But he didn't." She shot Marissa a mischievous look. "It's all right. Nanette says I can be her companion if I never get an offer."
"She did not!"
"She did," Beth laughed.
Marissa stopped her for a quick hug. Beth was sweet and loyal, and if she didn't have the beauty of her cousin, she was very pretty at least. If only they did not have the exact same coloring . . .
Beth cleared her throat. "That Mr. Bertrand certainly seems fond of you. He watched you all through dinner."
"Did he?" She followed Beth's gaze to another corner of the room. She expected to find Jude watching her still, but he was looking down at the woman talking to him. Patience Wellingsly, the same woman who'd watched him so closely at dinner the night before.
"Doesn't he make you nervous? He looks like a ruffian."
Mrs. Wellingsly leaned into his arm, using the excuse of laughter to press herself close.
"Have you danced with him? I can't imagine he would recommend himself as a partner."
Marissa glared at the woman's hand wrapped so possessively around Jude's bicep. "What do you know about Mrs. Wellingsly?"
Beth looked surprised. "Her? Not much, I suppose. I know she's been widowed for a few years. And I believe she's very keen for whist." And big men who looked like ruffians, it seemed.
Marissa watched carefully, wondering why the gorgeous widow seemed so interested in Jude. Could they possibly be lovers? They hardly looked compatible. Mrs. Wellingsly, all pale beauty and delicate grace, looked like spun sugar next to him.
But she was obviously flirting, and Jude hadn't looked up once to see if Marissa was nearby.
"Hmph," she muttered, and Belli sent her a puzzled look. "Come, let's find some wine. I'm sure my mother will start the dancing soon."
She managed to get through two glasses of wine and three dances without seeing Jude again, and while she told herself she was purposefully avoiding him, her irritation fell suspiciously like hurt.
Ridiculous. He meant nothing to her.
But when she spotted Mrs. Wellingsly in a half-shouted conversation with Aunt Ophelia, Marissa fell as if a tight hand had just been released from around her chest. Wherever Jude was, he hadn't snuck off with that woman.
She spun around to see if she could find another dance partner, but found herself nearly colliding with Edward instead.
"Might I speak with you in my study?"
Frowning at his dark tone, Marissa followed her brother from the room. "What is wrong?" she whispered. "I haven 't received another letter, if that's what you think."
"No," he muttered, "but I have."
"What letter?" she asked as he closed the door of his study behind her. Jude was there, and Aidan as well.
Not good.
"Cousin May wrote to warn she'd heard a rumor about you and Peter White having a private argument. It's dangerous to let it go on longer."
"But—"
"I will announce the engagement."
"But you promised me time!"
Edward folded his arms. "Engagements can be broken. But if this story spreads, there will be nothing I can do for you, Marissa. A betrothal to Jude
Bertrand will cause a stir and either smother the story or give it a less sinister turn. If you and Mr. White argued, it must only be over your growing affection for Jude."
Her brain tried to muster an objection, but in truth, it made perfect sense. Marissa looked toward Jude and met his serious eyes. He stepped forward, but she shook her head. She did not need his reassurance or influence. She would make this decision as an adult. "When shall we announce it then?"
"As soon as possible," Edward answered. "Tonight. I'll interrupt that harpist mother hired. That should he dramatic."
"Yes. All right."
Jude cleared his throat. "If I might have a moment alone with Marissa?"
Her brothers both left, though Aidan stopped before her to place a hand on her arm. His eyes were dark, but she nodded his worry away. When he left, the door closed with a careful thump.
"This won't change anything for you." Jude said. "I'll still honor your plan."
"Thank you."
"But know that I honor mine as well. Scandal or not, I mean to marry you if you'll have me. And only if you'll have me."
"All this based on admiration for my overwrought nature?"
"Something like that."
He moved closer, and Marissa fell the room grow smaller, the air less cool. He stopped before her, and his hand touched her jaw as it had before. The last time, she'd thought he would kiss her, but now she had no idea what he meant by it.
"Will you do me the honor of accepting my hand, Marissa York?"
"I..." By God, everything he did was a mystery. "You understand that—"
"I do."
"All right. Then, yes, I suppose I do as well."
His mouth lifted in that already-familiar crooked smile. "I'm not sure you're a romantic at all," he said. Then he tipped her face up and lowered his head, and my God, he was finally going to kiss her.
He moved so slowly that she could feel her own breath rush between them. She kept her eyes open, worried he'd draw away if she didn't watch. But finally, finally, his mouth touched hers, and she sighed with stark relief.
His lips brushed over hers, a soft rasp that set her nerves tingling. He smelled good
so close to her. That same spice she caught a hint of on rare occasions. He smelled like something she wanted to taste.
So she did, pressing her mouth more firmly to his. Jude rewarded her by parting his lips just enough to catch her bottom lip between his. Now there was a hint of wetness when she moved. Now it felt wicked and less than safe.
The tingling in her nerves spread out, chasing down her body with happy speed.
Marissa had been kissed before, and she knew how it was done, so she angled her head and licked his plump bottom lip, and then she had to do nothing but let him kiss her.
And kiss her he did, with tongue and mouth and nibbling teeth. Marissa found herself clutching his lapels in an attempt to keep him near. At any moment
he could lift his head, and then when would he kiss her again? She'd waited so long already. . . .
His tongue rubbed a slow caress against hers, and Marissa moaned and strained toward him. His chest was so hard, and she could feel a faint roughness to his chin, but his mouth was nothing but warmth and sweet need. The kiss went on for long minutes, and soon enough she was thinking of couches and things that could be done on them. She was thinking of his thigh and what it might feel like under his trousers. Men had crisp hair on their thighs, she knew. And hot skin. And other interesting things in the vicinity.
So when he finally lifted his head, Marissa let him go, anticipating that something even better might happen. But nothing better did.
"That's as official as it gets, I'd say." His voice was deeper than normal, and much more rumbly.
Marissa fell back on her heels when she realized she was still poised on tiptoe. "Pardon?"
"Our betrothal. Shall we go share our joyful news?"
"I rather thought we'd stay here a moment and find ourselves even happier."
"Marissa! What kind of gentleman would I be if I tried to sway things in my favor by increasing your odds of. . . increasing?"
Her eyes slid toward the very comfortable looking couch on the far side of the room. It was far larger than the sewing-room settee. "You said there were other ways. ..."
"Oh, Christ," Jude said to the ceiling. His neck stretched up when he raised his chin, and the shadowed darkness of his nascent beard caught her eye. Another thing that made him so much rougher
A Little Bit Wild Page 7
